I’m Jake Hounds, and this is one thousand words or less.
EPISODE 1: THE REPERTORY CINEMA
The other day I was walking with my son down the main street in a college town near where we live. It was the winter holidays, and we were enjoying hanging out together. He pointed out the marquee of the local repertory theater showing The Boy and the Heron, the most recent film by Hayao Miyazaki. We had wanted to see it not realizing that there was a screening so close by. Yet here it was, so we resolved to return the next day and catch the show.
My son, who just turned 13, has seen all the popular kids’ movies and only recently began exploring more cinematic choices on his own accord. His desire to see this film follows his watching the Christopher Nolan catalog, Inception was his favorite up until now, and then Spirited Away also by Miyazaki. It’s cool to witness his taste unfold, and I’m proud of his curiosity, and of his choices.
You may not know what a repertory cinema is, or was, but they were a really important part of my youth. That’s where I learned about film. A rep or revival cinema programs classic, foreign, and art films, usually discounted to attract students, artists, and cheapskates, but with enough variety for even the most ravenous cinephile.
They were my “home video” before there was a “home video.” I was about fifteen when I started going to see offbeat movies with my friends, sometimes even by myself, and sometimes even during the day. I explored titles I had heard of but never seen. I loved the movies, and like my son, as my understanding matured, I sought out better and better titles.
I can’t say that I developed into a film snob…per se…but I did develop an appreciation for a variety of films that were outside most people’s tastes. Like an espresso with a twist. It was rep cinemas that made those discoveries possible, as many of the films I saw would never play anywhere else.
I watched films like Eraserhead by David Lynch. Fellini’s 8 1/2. Or John Water’s Polyester in “Odorama,” which had a scratch and sniff card for various smells during the movie. I watched horror films, arcane films, obscene films, low-budget schlocky films, animated films, black and white films, concert films, and French films. I saw the best and the weirdest of the twentieth century on the big screens of retired movie houses gracefully given new life as rep cinemas. Some of them are still standing today. Yet, it had been many years since I had visited one. Then tomorrow came.
We drove back into town in time for lunch and a bit of poking around in the comic book store before heading over to the theater. Under the marquee, we entered a modern foyer with offices and a co-working space, and then up a short flight of stairs into a retro lobby, complete with vintage posters and memorabilia, including an antique projector. And carpeting. “Dude,” I said, “that’s the carpet from The Shining!” He has not seen it yet, but he knows all about it. We are both delighted by this detail. I feel like I’ve arrived home.
We bought some popcorn from the concession stand proudly declaring “made with coconut oil topped with real butter,” — it was delicious —and then made our way to our seats. The theater itself was small, seating maybe fifty people. We settled in for the pre-show slide presentation of coming attractions which was capped off by a commercial with a goofy jingle for the theater itself, like a home movie played on the big screen.
Then something unexpected and marvelous occurred. Something so rare, that in all the times you have gone to the movies, it may never have happened to you. The lights dimmed, the film started, and the audience was silent. Not scrunch around in your seat slurp your drink while opening your candy wrapper and making music with your straw silent, but funerary silent. Perfectly quiet. It had been so long since I had seen a movie in a quiet theater that it was a bit disarming. What is this?
This is what used to be the norm in a movie theater, as the lights went down, so did the volume of noise. People would watch in rapt attention at the trailers, I mean, how else would you know what was up and coming? There was a common good, and most people adhered to it.
Now, I’ve seen patrons lose it in theaters because of people talking during the movie. Back then, everyone would clap when someone called out a noisemaker, and it wasn’t unusual to hear a bellowing “QUIET” if there were some chatterboxes in the show. Sadly, we have accepted rudeness and interruptions as part of being in public, and in my estimation, we have lost something quite special. But on this day, on this day the past was revisited most wonderfully.
The film was exquisite, see it if you have a chance. The space, intimate. The company, irreplaceable. And the carpeting, the carpeting was cinematic with a smirk. I felt so grateful to be sharing this experience with my son, who was enraptured by this beautiful work of art. In the film, a mother tells her son, “You’re a good boy.” I look over emotionally at him, not quite a kid, not quite a man, and pat his head gently, whispering the same sentiment to him, my good son. I turn back to the screen, tears welling up with the joy of the moment, meditating on grief and loss, and magic and love, in a quiet cinema on the main street in a college town near where I live. There we made a memory together that day.
This has been 1000 words or less, I’m Jake Hounds.
Thanks for listening.
One Thousand Words or Less is one hundred percent created by flawed natural human intelligence. Please subscribe and share this podcast. I’m interested in your feedback, you can follow me on X/Twitter @houndsjake, Instagram/Threads @jakehounds, or email me contact@jakehounds.com.
